


Gifted

by Silva_13



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Battle of Five Armies, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Blood and Gore, Dreams and Nightmares, Gold Sick Thorin, Gold Sickness (Tolkien), Hurt/Comfort, Insults, M/M, Nightmares, Non-Graphic Violence, Serious Injuries, Visions in dreams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 07:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16237091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silva_13/pseuds/Silva_13
Summary: “We're all going to die,” was everything he could whisper before his face suddenly turned ashen and he lost consciousness.





	Gifted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [calicoswritingkatts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/calicoswritingkatts/gifts).



> This is my Durin's Day gift for the wonderfully talented [calicoswritingskatts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/calicoswritingkatts) aka [calicoscolouredpencils](https://calicoscolouredpencils.tumblr.com/) for the GatheringFiki Durin's Day Gift Exchange 2018. Make sure you check out her art blog AND her writing. 
> 
> Dear Jess, being paired up with you was a great honour for me and I hope you'll like your gift. Happy Durin's Day! <3 <3 <3
> 
> This work was inspired by my all-time favourite work, this [very special version of Fili](https://calicoscolouredpencils.tumblr.com/image/166988763110). I have to admit that I was a little selfish here, secretly hoping there would be a matching piece of Kili once <3
> 
> I also want to thank Chelidona, who helped me with some vocabulary and prevented me from having a 'shaft' running through Kili ..... hehehe

** Gifted **

 

The halls of Erebor were dark and silent when Kili finally entered them. Coming here had been difficult enough, as the main gate had been not only closed but also sealed up and there were no dwarves manning the watch posts; neither at the outskirts nor the gate itself. He couldn't even recall why he had been outside in the first place, or why his steps were so slow and cumbersome. He only knew it had taken him a long time to climb the secret stairs to the hidden door, which fortunately had been open.

 

Nothing could have prepared him for what he had found inside the mountain though.  Darkness and an eerie silence; and yet, the kingdom was not abandoned. Indeed there were dwarves, but they seemed … _changed_. They were scuffing through the stone halls, apparently aimless and without being sensible to their surroundings. They also seemed to lack of any apprehension, as they didn't talk, neither in Common nor in Khuzdul. They didn't interact with each other at all. They were even running into each other from time to time without noticing. Kili had seen one dwarf being caught between the wheels of an overturned cart, nonetheless trying to get forward, flailing his arms through the air without success. It hadn't occurred to that particular exemplar that stepping back and rounding the cart would be of more help.

 

It didn't matter where he looked; the forges, the royal chambers, the other quarters, the mines or the dungeons, those strange creatures were simply everywhere. And creatures they were, for it was not only their behaviour that was curious, but also their looks. All of them were ghostly pale, the hair dull and dishevelled with braids undone and beards bedraggled. The clothes were torn and dirty and they didn’t carry any weapons.

 

Besides the strange behaviour, the most unsettling aspect was their eyes. All of them, no matter the dwarf’s general body features, were of a sallow ice-blue, unfocused and obviously unseeing, the pupils distorted to vertical slits like he had seen in carnivores. But that was not everything.

 

They all were injured; _badly_ injured. He saw missing limbs and broken bones, piercing the pale skin and sticking out. He saw torn flesh and dangling bowels, smashed heads and shattered backbones. The injuries he saw were not only bad; they were lethal. All of them.  And yet those dwarves moved around, unbothered by their respective handicaps.

 

Now he saw that most of them carried weapons after all. There were arrows sticking out of their wounds and all kind of daggers, swords and spears embedded in their bodies. A part of them was made by elves, another by humans. But most of them, Kili realised shell-shocked, were unmistakeably crafted by orcs; only those blasted creatures used such crooked and bizarre shapes.

 

At first Kili couldn’t make any sense of it. The last thing he remembered before he had found himself outside of the mountain was him and his brother standing watch on the wall the company had built at Erebor’s main gate. From there they had observed the armies of elves and men preparing for the impending battle. Thorin, in his goldsick madness, had refused to negotiate with them in the first place, not willing to give away a single coin of Erebor’s riches. He remembered the raven, which had arrived shortly before the troops had lined up, announcing the arrival of Dain Ironfoot and his dwarven army.

 

Now, a closer look revealed that most of those dwarf- _things_ were clad in the armour of the Iron Hills and slowly it dawned on him what must have happened on the battlefield. The battle, the one against men and elves, seemed to have taken a turn for the worst as an orcish army seemed to have appeared. Reconsidering his surroundings again, Kili corrected his guesses. _Two_ orcish armies, given the two different crests he could see on the weapons and shields lying scattered on the floor. The realisation only sank in slowly and he stopped, frozen in terror.

 

_Where is Fili?_

 

He slowly continued his search in the direction of the throne hall, which was located deep in the mountain. On the entire way he came across those creatures and not a single dwarf was unchanged. When he finally reached the enormous hall, he found the way to the throne impassable. The gigantic stone bridge had collapsed and there was no other route to reach the throne. What if the others were trapped?

 

In the distance he could see movement, but there was only one dwarf on the other side, dragging himself forward, restless and limping.

 

_Thorin._

It took only one look to realise that his uncle was changed, too. The raven crown was still sitting on his head, but whenever he reached the stairs to the throne he got stuck with his feet, especially with the right one, on which he was limping since a blade was bored through it. Whenever he got stopped he turned around, wandered a few steps away and tried again. It was then that Kili saw the blade embedded in his chest. A bizarre-looking curved double-blade without a hilt, the pointy end sticking out of his back. It couldn’t be. This had to be a mistake; a trick of his distressed and anxious mind. Or maybe he was still affected by his poisoned leg wound? He had to find Fili and the rest of the company.    

 

He had looked everywhere, hadn't he? He was seized with desperation when he noticed there was only one place left he hadn't searched already; the small rooms in a more secluded part of the mountain, where the company had first found shelter after Smaug was gone. He hurried through the halls, his steps echoing. Again he was confused and not at least annoyed by the fact that he was moving so terribly slowly. He felt as though he was caught in a nightmare; those in which every attempt to speed up resulted in only slowing further down.

 

After he had moved through the dark tunnels for what felt like an eternity, he finally could see a light coming from the end of the corridor. But nothing could have prepared him for what he found in the main chamber eventually.

 

At first there was Bofur, or better what once had been the cheerful toymaker, his hat still sitting on his head but his body was horribly torn, his bowels hanging out and his jaw missing. Kili’s mouth opened to let out a scream of horror when he saw Ori, but no sound left him. His best friend’s lower body half had been smashed, probably by a huge club or something similar. He was only able to crawl forward on his arms, but even that went unnoticed by the former scribe and the rest of the company. In fact, all of them were staggering around, gravely injured and without any kind of awareness.

 

It was only now that the horrible truth finally worked its way into Kili’s consciousness, chasing away the denial he had been in. They were dead. All of them. Fallen in battle; a battle which could have been prevented if only Thorin would have been able to overcome his greed and pride.

 

_Where is Fili?_

 

Slowly Kili scuffled through the small corridor, which led to another set of small rooms. Here, he and his brother had set up their bedrolls after they had arrived in Erebor; close but not right next to the others. They had needed a little privacy after all, hadn’t they?

 

He heard a shuffling sound coming from there, moving ever so slowly through the room in a certain rhythm. When he entered the room he finally saw him, but he had to stop in the door frame to take in the picture.

 

There was his brother; shoulders broad and body sturdy with thighs as thick as tree trunks. And his hair ... his hair fell in its usual golden waves over his back, shiny and luxuriant, and Kili wanted nothing more than to comb his fingers through the curls.

 

_Thank Mahal!_

 

But as soon as he realised what had caused the rhythmic shuffling sound earlier, he stopped dead in his movements. Fili’s left leg was broken. It stood in a strange angle and every time he made a step and put weight on it, it threatened to give out. When he stood on his right leg, he dragged it along behind him, since his brother seemed unable to lift it. But the scariest thing was that Fili apparently didn't feel any pain. He just continued walking through the room. But he was alive and that was all what counted in Kili’s eyes.

 

Although he tried with all his power to call his brother's name he remained silent again, as if his voice were gone. But it didn’t matter in the end, for he had finally found him. Now everything would be alright. Now they could leave this bloody mountain, return to Ered Luin and live a peaceful life together. They would not have the huge royal wedding Thorin had always promised, but that hadn't been important to Kili anyway. All what mattered was them being reunited and alive.

 

He hurried forward as fast as he could, which wasn't very fast at all, to get to his brother, who had moved away again. It took a while to catch up to him, but when he finally was able to put a hand on his shoulder, Fili turned. And Kili froze in horror, eyes wide with shock.

 

Now he could see that Fili’s hair wasn't shiny and golden anymore; not at all. That must have been a trick his heart had played on him. His brother's glorious mane had bleached to a bony white, dull and tangled. The beads were missing and one of his moustache-braids had come undone. His eyes were of the same ice-blue he had seen in the other dwarves before, the pupils slotted. He wasn't even sure if his gaze was focused on him or if he was just staring at a random spot close to Kili’s face. His pale skin was torn in many places; his arms, his jaw and even his unclothed torso. Why his brother wasn't wearing a shirt Kili couldn't even begin to fathom. But what finally pulled him out of his shock-induced stupor was the stab wound in his brother's chest, a curved double-blade still sticking out. It was the same blade he had seen earlier embedded in their uncle’s torso.

 

With the realisation that his brother had been killed too, grief rose in his chest, clasping its cold fingers around his heart and choking him violently. He wanted to cry, wanted to rage, but all he could do was to stand there and stare at his beloved brother, his One. He was dead; killed in a battle their uncle could have prevented. This couldn't be!

 

And yet, even in death his brother was beautiful. Born to be a king, he still carried himself with incredible pride, head held high and face determined. Under the torn skin, his gorgeous body was ripped and strong. Kili had never seen someone more majestic than him, not even Thorin. Alive or dead, it didn't matter, his love for him burnt further on unabatedly.

 

But still, anger and grief eventually boiled over, and the young prince choked on a sob, releasing a strangled and burbling sound. The heavy feeling of loss became overwhelming and he pulled his brother into a tight embrace, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Fili didn't reciprocate the gesture, but didn't turn away either.

 

A metallic sound between their upper bodies got Kili’s attention and he looked down. A spear, protruding from his chest, had clinked against the blade in Fili’s torso. A spear. In his chest. A closer look made clear it wasn’t a spear at all, but some kind of … staff, square and broken off. How, in Mahal’s name, could he have missed that? It didn't even hurt. He slowly lifted his head, feeling as if he was moving through thick treacle, and looked over his brother's shoulder. This time, he released a blood-curdling scream, which didn't want to end, when he stared at his reflection in a mirror behind Fili, aghast at the sight. Stupefied with horror he took in his bedraggled hair, the ghostly pale skin which hang from his face and body in shreds, eyes wide with shock. Ice-blue eyes with slotted pupils.

 

And he was still screaming.

 

~~~

 

His shoulder was shaken violently and he heard someone shouting his name. Someone else was screaming, loud and ear-splitting. At first, he couldn't see a thing in the darkness of the room, but then forms and shapes came slowly in sight, as a few torches were burning. The voice which had called his name before was now murmuring quiet assurances. He knew that voice. If ever someone were able to calm him in such a state it was him.

 

_Fili. Fee._

 

If only the other one stopped screaming. Now he could see his brother’s beloved face; ocean-blue eyes with round pupils, intact skin, his complexion of a healthy colour and the hair was not at all tangled or bleached. And what was most important: there was no wicked blade sticking out from his chest.

 

He breathed a sigh of relief and the yelling finally stopped. Only now he realised it had been actually _him_ who had been screaming.

 

There was nervous whispering around him and now he could see the rest of the company gathering around them.

 

"Is the lad alright?"

 

That was Bofur's voice. It lacked of the usual cheerfulness, but sounded rather concerned. That was odd. He blinked a few times, trying to focus, but his vision was blurred. But he could see all of them standing around Fili and their sleeping place. His brother was kneeling in front of him and his beautiful face was full of worry and fright.

 

“F-F-Fee ... what...?"

 

"Kili! Are you awake now? You scared me. Us! Mahal, you're white as a sheet ... and shaking. What's wrong? Please tell me."

 

But Kili wasn't able to answer right away, for his head seemed to be filled with cotton wool and he had difficulties to wrap his head around what had happened. Or what he thought had happened.

 

"I ... I don't know ... I think ... I think just a ... just a nightmare."

 

His brother's eyes widened and a frown appeared on his face.

 

" _Just?_ You were screaming as if Morgoth himself was hunting you down. And we couldn't wake you at first. Look at you! You look like you’ve seen the death in person!”

 

“Actually, I … ," Kili stuttered, reconsidering if he should tell the truth. But then his thoughts got interrupted by a sudden wave of nausea. He quickly turned to the side, eyes frantically searching for something to empty the contents of his stomach into, when suddenly Oin appeared, a rusty bucket in his hands. Just in time as it turned out, for Kili started to retch at this very moment. Fili was immediately by his side, supporting him and stroking his shaking back soothingly. When Kili was done, Dori kindly took the bucket to dispose it.

 

Fili still knelt next to his brother, holding his hand in his, while Oin had a closer look on him. With worry, he put a finger on his brother's neck, only to find his pulse racing and shallow, just like his breathing. He was still pale and sweated, his hair sticking to his forehead, and over their bond Fili could feel the fright raging through his One's body. It took all his strength to not panic himself.

 

"Kee, please tell me what you saw."

 

"It ... It was only a nightmare, Fee."

 

Although he tried his best to sound reassuring, he couldn’t even convince himself.

 

"Kee, please! I think it was way more than that."

 

"Fee ... it was ... it was nothing."

 

"I haven't seen such a violent reaction for a long while," Oin interjected, "Not since the last time, lad." His face was serious and he met Fili’s eyes.

 

"I think that was another one."

 

While Kili inhaled sharply, Ori spoke up with a feeble voice, confused and scared.

 

"I don't understand. Has it something to do with his injured leg?"

 

“No, it’s ... something else.” And turning towards his distraught brother, Fili added, “I think as well that was another one. What happened? What did you see?"

 

Kili was still shaking and hyperventilating. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to speak but didn't find himself able to. It took a great deal of calming, reassuring and persuading from Fili’s side before he found the strength to answer.

 

“We're all going to die,” was everything he could whisper before his face suddenly turned ashen and he lost consciousness.

 

~~~

 

“Have you all lost your mind? Peace with men; and _elves_ of all people _?_ Those greedy bandits? They have the Arkenstone after all! And they'll steal every single coin of my treasure if we let them.”

 

“ _Your_ treasure?”

 

Kili frowned deeply. He knew his uncle was seized with the Gold Sickness, but until now he hadn’t thought it was that bad.

 

“We're not talking about gold here. We are talking about life. _Your_ life! And ours! The lives of the company members and hundreds of other dwarves! If you don't stop this madness the Line of Durin will end on this very day.”

 

Fili’s jaw clenched while he followed the argument between his uncle and brother. Kili had thankfully regained his strength after finally waking up one hour ago. Now morning was already dawning and the entire company had gathered on the makeshift rampart at the destroyed main gate of Erebor. Gandalf, Thranduil and Bard were expecting the King under the Mountain’s answer to the question of war or peace within the next two hours. They had sought talks with Thorin the evening prior, asking compensations for the destroyed town of men in return for the Arkenstone. But Thorin had sent them away in his blindness. They had promised to come back to await his final decision in the morning.

 

If there was really an orcish army approaching, or even two, they had to form an alliance quickly. Neither the dwarves nor the elves or men could afford to be diminished in number and tired from battle when facing the foe. Let alone that fighting them over a hump of gold seemed so pointless. If they wanted to get rid of Azog and Bolg, who they thought might be behind it, they all had to stand together; at all costs. As Thorin seemed to give a damn about what Kili was saying Fili came to his aid.

 

“Uncle! You didn't reclaim that mountain to be buried beneath it only the next day; neither did we. It’s the Sickness speaking. We will all die if you won't stop this madness. It’s over, the Arkenstone is gone and with him our burglar. We cannot win, not against those numbers of elves and men. Not even with Dain’s help. And we haven’t heard about him, yet.”

 

“He’ll come!” Thorin roared.

 

“He’ll come,” Kili whispered. “And he’ll bring an army. And their corpses will rot along with ours.”

 

“I knew it was a mistake to let you join this quest. One little nightmare and you’re cowering like a little boy.”

 

If Kili was hurt by that remark, he didn’t show it. He continued to speak about their upcoming end as if his uncle hadn’t said anything at all.

 

“You and Fili will be killed by the same weapon; an orcish double-blade, curved and without a hilt. I saw it embedded in your chests.”

 

“How can the same blade stick out from both our chests? And who wields a blade without a hilt?”

 

“Someone who can’t hold it; someone whose arm is missing for example. Instead they could put the blade directly on the stump. You’ve seen that before.”

 

Kili’s voice was toneless and he seemed to be staring into nothing. Then his eyes refocused on Thorin with a piercing glare, which even the king had difficulties to withstand.

 

“I won’t let him slay Fili. Not for the treasure, not for this bloody mountain. And not for you, Thorin. We’re supposed to get married, not to be buried.”

 

“You’ve always been an overdramatic coward!

 

Kili ignored the insult and continued to stab his uncle with his black looks.

 

“What about you? How did you find your death?”

 

“I didn't recognise the weapon, but my chest was pierced as well. I think it was some kind of … staff; square and broken off. But it was too thick for a spear.”

 

Thorin’s voice was dripping with venom when he threw another hurtful retort at his nephew.

 

“You probably just managed to get yourself impaled by a ram’s horn…”

 

“For Mahal's sake, uncle! How dare you insulting your own kin in such a way? We are all going to die out there, is that treasure really worth it?”

 

“Your brother had a dream. Suddenly he’s not so keen to prove himself in battle anymore. Because he is a whining poltroon! There is no such a thing as foresight amongst dwarves! That's tree-shagger business.”

 

To the princes’ surprise Oin stepped forward and spoke up.

 

“Did you forget how you came to my house that one night so many years ago, asking for help? The lad was only four years old, anxious and pale, sweating and he couldn’t stop throwing up. The next morning he refused to let go of his father’s leg when Vili was about to leave the house to join you on a patrol. A patrol hunting down orcs in the outskirts of the settlement.”

 

“That was the last time we saw him alive. And from then on, there had never been a day without us regretting to not have listened to Kili, who had dreamt of Adad’s death. You _know_ that, Thorin.”

 

Fili’s voice was quiet and gloomy, but yet emphatic and insistent.

 

“That’s nonsense, pure accident!”

 

“We all thought that too, until the day the mine collapsed. Do you remember? The only reason I haven’t been among the dead was because, at Oin’s orders, I was taking care of my distraught brother, who was still affected by the nightmare he had had the night before.”

 

“I have seen the same physical reaction in him last night, Thorin. Even stronger, for he passed out this time. The lad _is_ gifted. And you know all too well that it is _not_ only elves that have some kind of foresight. Truly, it’s rare among dwarves, but yet it appears from time to time. I stick to it, the lad is gifted.”

 

Thorin’s face had become furious when Oin had taken his nephews’ side. To make it even worse, he could see the others nodding frantically, as if suddenly all of them had lost their mind.   

 

“Thorin …”

 

“I won’t be wasting my time with that nonsense any longer!”

 

While Fili was now seething and therefore speechless, Kili still hadn’t given up. Desperately he tried to prevail against Thorin in his unreasonable state of mind. 

 

“Please, you _have_ to listen...”

 

“I won’t hear another word! And you better hold your tongue, _boy_! I AM YOUR KING!”

 

Kili opened his mouth for another reply when the sound of an elven horn interrupted the heated argument.

 

“The elvenking is here. He's expecting your answer,” he said instead.

 

“And an answer he shall receive.”

 

Looking over the wall the dwarves could see the armies of elves and men, which had already taken position; an impenetrable forest of shields and spears, which occupied the entire valley.

 

From the first attacking line a few mounted figures separated and made their way to the wall; Bard and Gandalf along with Bilbo on horseback, and Thranduil riding on a giant moose. Thorin, wearing a grim expression as he was still livid with his nephews, turned towards his companions.

 

“We’ve come a very long way to reconquer our realm. We suffered hunger and cold, rejection and pain. But still, we have fought fiercely and determined, no matter the austerities we had to endure. We have reclaimed our mountain, our kingdom, and our wealth. But now, they want to take it from us. Elves and men, wizards and even hobbits; they all have heard the call of the gold and are here to steal what is rightfully ours. But I won’t let them. I won’t brook even one filthy tree-shagger nearby our gates. Today we fight; for our freedom, our kingdom and our abundance. Are you with me? Will you follow me one last time?”

 

Awkward silence fell upon the dwarves. They shuffled with their feet and looked to the ground; loyalty and honour clashing with reason and rationality. For a moment, no-one said a word and Thorin’s face grew thunderous. Then Kili stepped forward, head held high and back straight.

 

“No.”

 

Thorin's grip around his sword tightened, his knuckles turning white.

 

“What did you say?”

 

Kili’s face was grim, his lips a thin line and his jaw clenched.

 

“You heard me. I said no. They’ve come to seek your help; help, you had promised. You broke your word, Thorin. The dwarf I once knew - my uncle, _my king -_ would never have done that. I can't speak for the company, but I won't follow you into our perdition in favour of a heap of gold.”

 

“How dare you?” Thorin spoke through gritted teeth.

 

“Me too, uncle. If you indeed summon us into this battle, I will reject my heritage, take my brother and leave. I would have followed you everywhere; into battle, even into death. Everywhere loyalty and honour had led us to. But this? This is preposterous.”

 

Thorin was now fuming. On every other occasion, Fili and Kili would have been obedient without question. But not now.

 

“This … this is high treason! How dare you to question my decisions in such a rebellious manner? I should have known you two were trying to usurp the throne one day. You will die for this; both of you!”

 

And with that he turned to Dwalin, who stood still like a statue.

 

“Take them!”

 

And Dwalin moved. He took only one step forward, positioning himself right next to the princes and taking in a deep breath.

 

“No! I have followed you all my life. But now I can't recognise you anymore. This is the Gold Sickness speaking, you sound exactly like your grandfather.”

 

Before the king could react, the rest of the company moved forward, all standing proud, with straightened backs and risen chins.

 

“We won't fight,” said Dori. “I believe Kili.”

 

“When there's truly an army of orcs we should ally with Bard and Thranduil, “Gloin stated. “Any different way would leave the mountain wide open for Azog and Bolg to enter, with your head as a nice present on top of it. Is that what you want?”

 

The others nodded and Balin put a hand on Thorin’s shoulder. He had kept quiet for a long while; for too long. Ever since Erebor had been taken by Smaug he had looked up to Thorin, had followed his every command. He could not do that any longer, not under these circumstances. And so he dealt out what he knew would be the final blow. 

 

“Thorin, remember Frerin! Remember the night before the Battle of Azanulbizar. He had seen the catastrophe and yet he was dismissed by Thror. See what it has brought them. You swore something like this will never happen again. You swore to never forget; all of us did. Keep to your oath, for your brother’s sake. Remember Frerin. You are not your grandfather; you are not Thror. Remember Frerin."

 

Balin’s voice had been quiet, the last sentence barely more than a broken whisper, but the effect it had on the king was remarkable. Thunderstruck, he stood frozen to the spot. His face was falling and emotions washed over it. Wrath turned to recognition, then into confusion, back to recognition, to grief, to horror, and eventually to deep sadness.

 

“What have I done?”

 

His voice was breaking and he looked as if he had woken up from a deep sleep, bewildered and only slowly comprehending.

 

“What have I done? My mind's been so clouded. Kili, I ... What have I done?”

 

Thorin may have been not himself, hurtful and insulting, but he was still their mother's eldest brother. He had always been more of a father than an uncle to them. Furthermore, Fili and Kili, being from the Line of Durin themselves, knew everything about the treacherousness of the Gold Sickness and how easily their kin succumbed to it. And so the nephews of Thorin Oakenshield, heirs to the Throne under the Mountain, needed only a brief glance into each other's eyes for confirmation before they pulled their uncle in a tight embrace.

 

“It's not too late yet. There's no harm done.”

 

Kili’s lower lip quivered and his eyes were moist, for his uncle's change for the better moved him deeply. Of course the venomous words had hurt him, but he knew Thorin hadn’t been himself, and so he was only too happy to forgive him. Fili, who had put both of his arms around them, was no less touched and slightly trembling. For a moment the three of them stood there, arms around each other and foreheads touching. The rest of the company was silent, giving them the little moment of peace and affection.

 

“My precious sister-sons,” Thorin whispered, “please forgive me.”

 

~~~

 

In the meanwhile, Bard and Thranduil had arrived at the gate along with Gandalf and Bilbo. To announce their arrival, the elven horn was blown another time and Bard spoke up.

 

“Are we resolved? The return of the Arkenstone for what was promised? Give us your answer! Will you have peace or war?”

 

The company stood quiet and wary behind their king, awaiting his reaction.

 

The King under the Mountain glanced back to his nephews and then to the rest of the company. Those twelve dwarves, who had joined him on this quest, the only ones who had trusted him to succeed and his closest friends, now expected his answer. He smiled and turned back, looking over the wall. Then he inhaled deeply and braced himself.

 

“I will have peace. But the detailed negotiations will have to wait, as war is nonetheless upon us.”

 

Bilbo released a breath he hadn't even known he was holding in while Gandalf and Bard looked more than relieved as well. Thranduil however, cocked his head and arched his eyebrows in that typical arrogant manner he called his own.

 

“What are you speaking about?” he spat.

 

Gandalf, who always seemed to know what was about to happen, interrupted before the conversation between the kings could escalate in any way.

 

“Why don't you all come down for starters? There are plans to be forged out and armies to be reallocated. Food and wine is already awaiting you.”

 

Ignoring the sour expression on the elvenking’s face, he gestured to the encampments behind them. At the mentioning of food and wine the dwarves were all too keen to climb down the wall. Especially Bombur impressed as it didn't take him even a minute to reach the ground.

 

~~~

 

It didn’t take long to tell the story of Kili’s vision and that it had to be taken seriously. The young prince looked embarrassed and shy, not being used to be the centre of attention; especially not in such a dire matter. Although Bard and Bilbo seemed a bit sceptical too, it was only Thranduil, who voiced his doubts; of course not without a generous load of mockery and arrogance. Even Gandalf and his report of Dol Duldur’s re-arming didn’t convince him.

 

The raven announcing Dain’s arrival didn’t help either and he soon was thundering, incriminating the dwarves of betrayal, but Thorin was having none of that. He sent the raven back with instructions and soon Dain arrived in the tent. Kili shrank even further, unfoundedly as it turned out, for Dain only needed to hear ‘dream’ and ‘orcs’ and he was convinced of the veritableness of the said.

 

Again, the elvenking wanted to protest, but it was this very moment that another two elves entered the tent in great haste.

 

“Father! You have to form an alliance with the dwarves instantly! Gundabad has released its evil; they’re about to arrive soon. Send a messenger to the wall and ... Oh!”

 

If the elvenking at least were to listen to his son remained open, for suddenly a horn resounded. Not an elven horn, or one of the men; neither it was the sound of a dwarven horn. Unmistakable, it was the roaring blare of an orc horn.

 

Thorin arched his eyebrows and looked at Thranduil.

 

“There they are.”

 

But then he turned to Kili with a regretful smile.

 

“Thank you,” he whispered and his nephew nodded slightly in recognition.

 

~~~

 

After they had left the tent, the three armies of dwarves, elves and men took position and the leaders observed the situation. Kili had barely enough time to whisper a quick warning to Ori.

 

“Keep away from the trolls!”

 

Orcs were streaming out of round holes in the southern ridge, which hadn't been there before.

 

“Wereworms,” Gandalf groaned.

 

High above the battlefield at the top of the rundown fortress of Ravenhill stood Azog, shouting commands in the black tongue of Mordor. Kili’s eyes widened and he pointed at the giant orc.

 

“The blade! The blade in his stump. It's the one I saw last night.”

 

Facing his brother and uncle, he added, “You must not come close to him! I will go kill him.”

 

“Kili, no!” Fili stopped his brother, putting a hand on his chest.

 

“Fili, it's alright. I wasn't killed by this blade.”

 

“It’s a trap,” Thorin interjected. ”I can’t see Bolg and Gundabad’s army. These are all from Dol Guldur. No, I’m sure he’s planning an ambush. For now, no-one is going up there. If he wants something, he can come down.”

 

And after a moment of consideration he asked, “Kili, where exactly were we in your dream?”

 

Kili needed a few seconds to think about it, but the horrible images had burnt themselves deep in his mind and so it didn’t take him long to answer.

 

“You were wandering around at the bottom of the stairs to the throne. You couldn’t climb them. And the bridge had collapsed, so I couldn’t reach you. Fili and the company were in our makeshift sleeping quarters. And I came from outside. Why?”

 

“We've been separated then. We must not allow this to happen.”

 

Thorin frowned thoughtfully and was silent for a few seconds, before he shared his reflections with his nephews.

 

“Kili, the gift seems to run deeper in you as you may believe. Me, unreachable for everyone, right there in front of the throne but yet not able to claim it; and dead to top it all off. That was not only a warning against the orcs, but also a warning against me and the Gold Sickness.”

 

He stood between his nephews, one arm put around each of them. The three were looking up to Ravenhill, their faces grim and determined.

 

“We must not be separated,” Thorin repeated, “Durins protect each other in battle; with shield and body! We have to stay together; at all costs.”

 

The princes nodded, still staring at Azog, when the roaring of the orc horn announced the attack.

 

~~~

 

The battle went in a blur, an ocean of clashing swords, thundering hammers and whirring arrows, but also bone breaking orc maces and troll clubs. Still, there was no sign of the second orc army, but dwarves, elves and men were busy enough fighting against the one.

 

Fili, Kili, Dwalin and Balin had just finished three trolls with one of the ram-pulled chariots, when Thorin and the rest of the company, all mounted on rams as well, caught up to them.

 

“We won't stand a chance without finishing the ringleader. I don’t like that, but I'm afraid we must go up there eventually. Bolg is probably there as well.”

 

“Then we shall not underestimate the foe and his ambush.”

 

The dwarves turned and were more than surprised when they saw Thranduil approaching on his giant moose along with a delegation of his best sword fighters and Gandalf. Shortly behind followed a regiment of Iron Hill warriors in command of Thorin Stonehelm, Dain’s son. The King under the Mountain watched while his nephews and the sons of Fundin mounted the remaining rams and then turned towards Ravenhill, his face resolved.

 

“Today it will end. Once and for all!”

 

And so in the end, a variegated gathering of representatives of the different races of Middle Earth standing against the black forces made its way up to the abandoned fortress. When they were half the way up, a second orc horn echoed over the ridge and Azog was no longer standing alone at the top of the watchtower. Bolg had arrived, a huge pointed mace in his hand. The dwarves came to a halt and Thorin rode up to Kili, indicating at the giant Gundabad orc.

 

“Was it that? The broken staff in your chest?” His nephew couldn't answer, as he was staring at the weapon in dismay, eyes wide and mouth agape. But he nodded. His brother next to him gazed also with horror, considering how much brutality it needed to thrust the mace through an armoured dwarven chest. Thorin in the meanwhile only grew fiercer.

 

“Remember, we must not be separated.”

 

And on they went, undisturbed on their way up, which caused them to be even more careful.

 

The Gundabad army already awaited them at the top, Azog and Bolg towering in between. The original plan of the pale orc had been to wait at the top of the fortress, where the attacking forces would have had a disadvantage against the party holding it. Bolg and his army were to be concealed in ambush until the time for the attack was right. But when Thorin just had not shown up, the insatiable blood thirst and the urge to annihilate the Line of Durin mixed with the natural impatience and the lack of flexible tactical reasoning of the orcs had driven them down to the frozen river, ruining their own carefully planned ambush.

 

~~~

 

When the enemies finally encountered each other, it was all clashing metal, in four different languages shouted commands, breaking bones, severed limbs and heads, battle cries, spluttering blood and death rattling. Although being outnumbered, the attackers soon had slain most of the orcs, who had waited too long for the fight and were now jumbling their battle order. Unorganised and frantic as they fought, the dwarves and elves soon seemed to prevail, although the battle was still in full swing.

 

Thorin, Fili and Kili were fighting in unison as though they were one single dwarf with six arms and a correlated number of weapons. They had been training together ever since Fili and Kili had been old enough to hold a wooden sword, learning to defend each other's weak spots and utilise they're strength.

 

Then they finally faced their ancient enemy, Azog and his spawn, in the middle of the battlefield. Both of the giant orcs were wielding their enormous maces, Azog’s even swinging on a big chain. The fight was nasty and soon both parties were exhausted and bleeding from various wounds. Bolg’s mace exploded against Kili’s ribcage and sent one of Fili’s swords flying when it hit his right arm with full force.

 

But it was when Azog kicked Thorin’s feet under him, causing him to go down and pinning him to the ground with his blade aiming for his chest, that Kili let his last arrow fly. It went right through the pale orc’s throat and he threw himself backwards, a hollow wheeze coming from his lips. That gave Thorin the opportunity to recollect himself quickly and thrust his sword right through the orc’s heart. He nearly got smashed when Azog the Defiler crashed to the ground, dead. The cheering was cut short, for Bolg grabbed Kili from behind, who had been distracted with putting away his bow for a mere second. He lifted him up, shook him violently and bent him backwards over his thigh, then lifted his right arm with the gigantic mace, readying himself to pierce his chest with the weapon. But he never got around to actually strike, because Fili was suddenly on his back, holding on to his neck, pulling a knife out of nowhere and slitting his throat in one fluent move.

 

The second Bolg fell, the last bit of resistance coming from the orcs broke. While the dwarves and elves finished with the rest of the army, the heirs of Durin lay on the ground; exhausted, bleeding and hurting, but alive. Although at first Fili was not sure about that, as his brother was soaked with black orc blood from head to toe, for Bolg had still held him in his clutches when the blond had killed him.

 

Thorin feared his hipbone was fractured from crashing onto the ice, but beside that and numerous cuts and bruises he was alright. Fili’s right arm was broken and his nose probably too. And Kili, under all the orc blood, sported multiple broken ribs, two smaller stab wounds, one in his left shoulder and one in his thigh. Sitting up, he suddenly felt dizzy and nauseous. He didn’t need the thundering headache to know he had a bad concussion, probably from being shaken so violently. So he let himself sink back to the ground, between his uncle and brother. But regardless of how bad he felt, all what mattered was that they were alive; probably thanks to him and his stupid dreams.

 

Could that really be true? Could he be gifted? He, Kili? For now it was irrelevant as long as his uncle and his beloved brother, his one true love, were safe; not only for now, but for good. They may have reclaimed a kingdom as a side effect, but that wasn't important to the young prince. Important was that they lived.

 

~~~

 

Six months later

 

Kili shifted slightly under the duvet, when his subconscious slowly arose from the blissfully warm and floating space in the dark, which the mind crosses when waking up.

 

_No, no! Not yet._

 

Desperately he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will himself back to sleep; back to the gorgeous dream he had had. He didn't remember much, but his spouse had been there in all his golden glory, shirtless - why by Mahal's hairy balls was he never wearing a shirt? –, and showing off is broad muscular chest and the spectacular bottom.

 

Regretfully, he was awake now and their bedchamber, enlightened by soft candlelight, came blurrily in sight when he blinked his eyes open. He turned towards the fireplace and a wide smile formed on his face, for he realised the view in real life was also promising.

 

His brother, and now husband, sat in a chair near the fireplace, his tongue peeking out of his mouth while he concentrated on the drawing he was working on. _Of course_ , he was shirtless.

_Why, for Mahal’s sake?_

 

When Fili realised that his brother was awake, he smiled as well, letting his beautiful dimples show.

 

“Were you dreaming, brother? Anything predicting?”

 

Kili stretched out under the covers with relish, then grinned and winked at his brother, remembering that in his dream Fili had been not only shirtless.

 

“Well, I hope so.”

 

“A wet dream then,” his brother deadpanned. “Might be my own fault, since I had to arrange my sleeping subject a little.”

 

It was only now that Kili realised his tunic had been opened while he had been asleep.

 

“What...?”

 

“I could’ve drawn you just from memory, but the living subject is always the better choice.”

 

At that he wiggled his eyebrows, blue eyes shining bright.

 

“I'm glad your right hand is recovering though. But why in the seven kingdoms aren't _you_ wearing a shirt?

 

Fili put on a playfully innocent expression, looking like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

 

“Uhm … for science?”

 

He barely managed to duck away before the thrown pillow hit the mantelpiece of the fireplace above his head. His drawing utensils went to the floor and remained there completely forgotten, when he launched himself on his brother.

 

But that didn’t matter. They were alive and knew how to indulge in that fact.


End file.
